


Torrent

by spookyknight



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 16:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10193975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyknight/pseuds/spookyknight
Summary: Paladins red and blue find calm in the storm on a treacherous uninhabited planet.





	

**Author's Note:**

> my heartfelt thanks to skyestiel for your enthusiastic support and advice

 

Uotanea is loud. Not because of high winds or fauna or a bustling city. It’s hard to explain.

 

The high-and-low pitched whine reminds Lance of the server room back at the Garrison. He’d followed Pidge in there once. The noise drove him crazy after a while. It wasn’t particularly loud or grating. Just the inescapable droning of electric current. A constant oscillation that gets under his skin. It ripples through him, clashing with pulse and respiration; casting doubt on the body’s natural rhythm.

 

The reality is different from Coran’s convoluted explanation of the electromagnetic hum that inundates the planet’s atmosphere. Though, admittedly, Lance started tuning out the particulars once he discovered Hunk and Pidge would be attending an intellectually stimulating tech-engineer meeting between the Olkari and the Blade of Marmora while he and Keith were stuck on a fetch mission.

 

From what he does remember, the vibrations stem from _ugulite_ , the highly reactive mineral they’ve been sent to collect. The metal element is formed underneath the planet’s crust. Lacking sophisticated mining equipment, the paladins are to access ugulite from a deposit in the Janesper Canyon—the jagged, rocky gorge they’re currently traversing.

 

The reactive field interferes with advanced electronics, so their Lions have to wait on the surface. Along with any useful Altean tech that would make their lives more comfortable. Just two dudes roughing it on a deadly, uninhabited alien planet.

 

Fun.

 

At least the electro-din limits the ability for conversation. Keith has a rudimentary Geiger-counter-thing that registers whatever magnetic waves the ugulite gives off. He blazes the trail based on the direction a little red arrow is pointing. Lance follows.

 

It’s a bit like their first adventure. Going out into the desert on Keith’s word and finding the first Lion. Only Blue was a more exciting prize than a fancy magnet. And Earth was a lot less dangerous than Uotanea. Probably.

 

They’ve lost sight of the surface. Rocky pillars, arches, and buttresses surround them, the terrain carved and forged in the likeness of some ancient temple. The descent into the gorge is gradual. It means more hiking than climbing, which is good. But walking is also tedious and that damn noise is incessant.

 

“Are we getting close?” Lance asks.

 

Keith doesn’t turn around, but his posture tenses. “Are you seriously asking me ‘are we there yet?’”

 

“I am asking,” Lance replies slowly, drawing it out, “if the uggo-lite-o-meter says we’re getting closer.”

 

“It’s a dial with an arrow.”

 

“So...no.”

 

“You wanna take over?” Keith holds up the instrument.

 

Lance waves him off. “No, no. You’re doing great. Must be your superior arrow-following skills. Good job, buddy.”

 

The hum starts to dissipate. Keith stops in his tracks, looking back at Lance. Right. That’s bad. It means the exposed ugulite deposit is preparing to discharge built-up electrostatic energy into the air. An electrical storm, complete with caustic rain, is imminent.

 

Basic rain, Coran explained, not acidic. Still corrosive. The precipitation would have a high pH dangerous to their skin and detrimental to their armor.

 

They’re prepared for this. At the base of a bowed pillar rock formation, the paladins unload their packs and start to make camp. Keith digs out stakes and tension rods and Lance unfolds a large sheet of plastic material. Inky black clouds gather in the sky. There’s a light breeze and a buzzing feeling in the air. Static and plunging pressure. It speeds their construction. The hum is almost gone. The resulting silence is deafening in its own way. There’s an awareness in the lack, like ears ringing after a rock concert.

 

Lance unrolls the groundsheet. Keith bangs stakes into the dry ground at a steep angle. They thread thin black poles through fabric channels. The sky is full on ‘ _Auntie Em! Auntie Em!_ ’ dark, now. The ground rumbles. Lance’s hands start to shake.

 

It takes both of them to bend the tension rods and affix them in place. The tent is up. Keith sprays the rainfly with the protective coating Coran provided. A thin chemical shield promises to keep the shelter intact.

 

There’s an ear-splitting crackle—a quake sending lightning up from the ground.

 

Keith startles, eyes wide. “Get in. Hurry!”

 

They snatch their remaining gear and scramble into the tent.

 

Lance turns to zip the entrance closed. For a moment, everything is quiet except their harsh breathing. The rain begins a sporadic sprinkle, advances to a drizzle, then finally increases to a rhythmic pitter-patter.

 

The tent holds, showing no signs of leaking or corroding.

 

Keith exhales a relieved sigh. Lance looks over and he’s wearing a bashful little smile. They both chuckle, adrenaline fading into a grateful anticlimax.

 

They’re stuck, but they’re safe.

 

The tent is long and narrow, affording just enough room for two bodies to lie down with a comfortable gap between them. Fatigue sets into joints from the long hike. A respite sounds good. Lance unfastens the bulkier plates of his armor, placing them in a neat pile by his feet. Keith mirrors his movements, unburdening himself and settling down.

 

They lie parallel in silence, watching the tented ceiling and listening to the rain. It’s nice. Existing in the same space without squabbling. Maybe it’s something about braving the elements. In their training exercises, the paladins always did perform better against a common enemy.

 

Dangerous as it is, the rain is pleasant. Its cadence soothes just as the ugulite’s magnetic buzz irritates. Opposite forces. Discord and calm, red and blue, Keith and Lance. He’s getting maudlin. It’s just that the rainfall reminds him of home.

 

“I miss this sound so much,” Lance says.

 

He doesn’t mean to voice the thought out loud, but there it is.

  
  
Keith hums thoughtfully. “You can play rain audio in your room.”

  
  
“It's not the same.” Lance presses his hand up against the fabric to feel the percussive tap of each raindrop as it hits. “You can tell when it’s real. It feels so close.”

 

“You’re a pluviophile.”

 

“Yeah, I guess.”

 

Lance lowers his hand and smirks, exhaling a laugh. Where Keith picked up that vocabulary gem is a mystery. They maintain soft voices; speaking without drowning out the rain, through some unspoken agreement.

 

“I read that it’s because it reminds you of the womb,” Lance murmurs. “Being safe inside but surrounded by the sound of water and everything. It feels like home.”

 

He looks over at his companion. Even in the dim light, Keith looked relaxed. His eyes are half-lidded. He, too, is entranced by the tempo of the rain and the freedom of seclusion. If they close their eyes, they can pretend they’re back on Earth. Homesick yearning seizes up in Lance’s chest. If only.

 

Keith reaches over and takes his hand. An act of empathy. Another bonding moment, he supposes. They connect over commonalities. Displacement, high expectations, mortal danger.

 

Lance feels mesmerized and sedate. The other paladin’s hand squeezing his should be a signal. But he’s so relaxed. The movement on the other side of the tent doesn’t register. Keith is rolling on his side, leaning in, and then—suddenly, it seems—Keith’s lips are on his.

 

Lance freezes. His brain kind of short-circuits.

 

Rain, quietude, a gentle kiss. Everything is soft and faded like a daydream. Like he’s just drifted off and his mind is wandering. He’s watching his dream-self, trying to shove him into action, but it’s not working. There’s a disconnect.

  
  
“Shit.” Keith pulls away, lies on his back with an arm thrown over his face. “I misread that. Just—shit.

  
  
Lance springs up. “Wait. Whoa, wait. Hold up.” He turns toward the red paladin. “I've been trying to get you to notice me for, like, going on three years. And just now...what the hell did I do?”

 

“What?”

 

Keith shifts his arm, peeking out one eye from under the crook of his elbow. It’s insanely endearing.

 

Lance makes a show of looking around the tent. “Is it the lighting? Have you been put off by the radiance of my devilish good looks?”

 

Keith scoffs. “What are you talking about? You’ve been fighting me ever since we met.”

 

“Yeah.” Lance throws his arms up as far as the tent will allow. “You’re a very frustrating person.”

 

“Right. You hate me.”

 

“No.” The blue paladin is adamant. “Dude, would we be able to form Voltron if I hated you?”

 

“But you don’t _like_ me,” Keith mumbles, his voice small.

 

Lance sighs, his posture deflating. “I don’t _know_ you. You don’t let anyone in.” Keith peels his arm away from his face, so at least Lance knows he’s listening. “Even at the Garrison. You were always so focused on being the best. In your own world, in some kind of zealous competition with yourself. You won’t let anyone help you.

  
  
“I wasn’t trying—I didn’t need to be the best.” Keith averts his eyes. “I never thought I was good enough.”

  
  
Lance leans down, getting in his teammate’s face, their foreheads nearly touching. He waits until Keith tears his gaze away from the wall of the tent. Even in the dark, he recognizes when their eyes connect. It sends a prickle up his spine.

 

“You are good enough.” He swallows to keep the schmaltzy waver out of his voice. “Better than.”

 

Keith’s features shift, his expression inscrutable. Something raw, intense. “You are too.”

 

And it breaks something inside Lance, hearing that. He gets misty-eyed and chokes a tiny sound back in his throat that he won’t call a sob. It’s everything his cadet self wanted to hear before all this started. He wishes he could reach back, tell past-Lance that someday he’ll be cowering from basic-rain on a faraway planet and Keith Kogane will finally tell him he’s worthy.

 

Lance lowers his head, brushing their noses together before capturing the red paladin’s lips. The contact is soft, but the spark of it jolts through him like thunder. Or it’s actual thunder. They are weathering a storm.

 

Keith hums, a tremor running through him. He slinks his arms around and pulls Lance closer. Fingers comb through hair. Mouths open and the kiss deepens. The air in the tent is hot and electric. The universe shrinks to the fervent slide of lips, the wandering of hands. The rain pit-a-pats on the tent.

 

Uotanea might be heaven.

 

Lance pulls back, just to get a breath of air between them. He takes in the flushed and disheveled paladin beneath him. It’s a vision he wants burned in his memory. Along with the needy sound Keith makes before kissing him again.

 

The drizzle peters out and the electromagnetic hum of the ugulite builds. Keith flinches away and Lance knows he hears it too.

 

“Quiznak,” Lance deadpans.

 

Keith laughs. It’s an enticing sound and Lance is helplessly charmed. The red paladin tips them over and Lance falls on his side with an _oof_. The stony ground is not forgiving. Their legs tangle together.

 

The hard knock is forgotten when Keith licks a line up his neck. Lance shudders, a traitorous whimper slipping out. Another slick glide of his paramour’s tongue, followed by suction. Desire washes over him, making his pulse race. It feels wanton and wicked and makes him seriously consider abandoning this stupid quest.

 

He doesn’t grasp the intention until Keith is finished, swiping his tongue over his handiwork one last time. There’ll be a mark, right beneath the blue paladin’s collar.

 

“This comes with us,” Keith says.

 

Lance nods, understanding. It would be easy to chalk this all up to the rain. They could go back to how things were before. Strained but familiar. Or they could move forward, into uncertainty. Lance votes for the latter.

 

He leans in, to seal the pact. And maybe to tempt his new flame into putting off their task a little longer. He doesn’t make it. There’s an incongruous clatter—this comical _sproing—_ and the ceiling caves in.

 

Keith growls. “You didn’t secure the ridge pole in the grommet?”

 

“It wasn’t me!”

 

“Dammit, Lance.”

 

“How do you know it wasn’t your grommet?”

 

Keith untangles himself, flailing the fallen fabric out of his way to gather his gear. He finds the zipper and opens it. Grumbling to himself, he exits, leaving Lance alone in the collapsed tent. The electro-din is back with a vengeance.

 

Lance pouts. “Can’t we go back to the kissing part?”

 

Keith is making a racket outside, undoubtedly assessing what went wrong with their survival structure and preparing to move out. He huffs when his partner doesn’t follow.

 

“Help me take this down so we can get this over with,” the red paladin calls.

 

Lance dons his armor. Gathers his gear. Crawls out of the tent. And prays for rain.


End file.
